


Fighting

by icabyppup



Series: Whumptober 2020 [6]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: BAMF Morgana (Merlin), Gen, General Creepiness, Good Morgana (Merlin), Gwen-centric, Mild Language, Minor Violence, No Beta, POV Gwen (Merlin), Whumptober, Whumptober 2020, it's not as bad as all that this makes it sounds quite bad, mentions of forced marriages, possible allusions to domestic violence/abuse, warnings for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:41:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26853877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icabyppup/pseuds/icabyppup
Summary: Not everyone is quite so nice to the servants.
Relationships: Gwen & Morgana (Merlin), Gwen/Morgana (Merlin), If you want, can be
Series: Whumptober 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947316
Comments: 6
Kudos: 66
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Fighting

**Author's Note:**

> Look, this is not my best work. It sucked, this sucks, I suck. It just be like that sometimes, but I hope you enjoy it anyway.

Gwen, if asked, would not consider herself a passive person.

Sure, she wasn’t as reckless as Arthur, or as passionate as Morgana, and _definitely_ not as impulsive as Merlin. She rarely spoke out of turn, generally behaved well and was considered a reliable servant. Some would say that meant she lacked character. Gwen considered it a healthy sense of self-preservation – something the people she surrounded herself with apparently did not possess.

It wasn’t like she didn’t have opinions, either. She most certainly did. In fact, Gwen _knew_ her convictions on certain topics were strong enough to match Morgana’s. The difference lay in how they expressed their opinions. Morgana would fight every and any battle that came her way with admirable yet foolish vigour. Gwen, _pressingly_ aware of the vulnerability of her position as a servant, picked her battles with a great deal more strategy.

And she was happy with her strategy, despite how passive it might cause her to appear. Being underestimated, as Morgana pointed out, could be an advantage.

_God,_ she wished that this was one of those situations.

Obviously not all nobles treated their servants as well as Gwen was used to in Camelot. Aside from a few less savoury members of the elite that the servants learned to avoid (The King included), people were by large respectful of the castle help.

Lord Diogo, since his arrival in Camelot a few weeks prior, had been firmly and universally placed into the ‘avoid’ category. By _all_ of the servants. No exceptions.

So when he requested Gwen attend him before a tournament, she braced herself for a less-than-pleasant experience.

“Guinevere! Do come in!”

The Lord himself was there to greet her as she made her way to his tent, ushering her in with all of the pomp and ceremony Uther might have used on one of his sleazy trade alliances.

_He knew her name._

That was a bad sign from someone who usually treated the serving girls as slugs to be trampled underfoot.

She entered his tent and he pulled the flap firmly closed behind her.

Oh dear.

“Help me with my armour, would you?”

Thank God for Morgana’s penchant to challenge Arthur to spar by stealing his armour. Most ladies’ maids wouldn’t know a gauntlet from a greave.

Gwen hurried to comply, careful to stay out of his way and keep her eyes down. She started from his boots and worked up, moving quickly to minimise the time spent in what would otherwise be (and probably still was) a scandalous position. He tried to catch her eye as she secured his pauldron, but the process was otherwise without incident until it came to his gauntlets.

They were effectively hand in hand, and when she released him he didn’t let go, grabbing her by the wrist.

She kept her gaze down.

“Shy, Guinevere?” He taunted.

He was looking for a slip-up. She didn’t know why, but Gwen was sure that if she stepped a single toe out of line… Well, the consequences certainly would not be enjoyable.

She tried to turn and retrieve his other gauntlet, but he held her in place.

“Just doing my job, my Lord.”

She stuttered, unsure.

“Yes, you certainly do.”

He didn’t release her. Gwen remained perfectly still.

“You see,” he began, “I have noticed you doing your job _._ In fact, I find myself quite _unable_ to notice. So, I have a proposition for you.”

She didn’t dare breathe.

“You can serve me, as my personal maidservant, for the remainder of my time here and leave with me when I depart Camelot.”

_And now, the ultimatum._

“ _Or,_ ” he paused, “you can come with me anyway, as a servant of the Lady Morgana.”

_What?_

“King Uther and I have been having some _very_ interesting discussions. You see, I have nieces around Morgana’s age, and he was lamenting how very _difficult_ children can be to control.”

The Lord smiled predatorily.

“I told him that I found the girls far more agreeable when paired with a s _uitable_ husband. At that age, marriage is really the only way to instil proper discipline.”

Gwen’s mind was stuck in a loop of horror.

“Uther seemed quite taken by the concept. In fact, he even offered me Morgana’s hand, if I so desired it, as he was certain I would be able to… _control_ her.”

_Shit._

This was _not good._ Very not good.

“So, _Guinevere_ , seeing as you join me in Eildon either way, I thought I would extend you the privilege of deciding if your _beloved_ mistress will be joining us.”

Gwen couldn’t _think._

“What do you have to say?”

She _couldn’t_ think.

“Do you have _nothing_ to say for yourself?”

She couldn’t-

_“You_ _ungrateful_ _whore_!”

Gwen was startled out of her shock by a gauntlet to the face. The impact of the blow twisted her around, and she landed heavily on her side.

She blinked.

She could already feel a sharp _sting_ from the flat of the glove. Raising her fingertips to her cheek, she vaguely registered a wetness. Gwen pulled her hand into her line of sight and was surprised to see red.

“Everything alright in here?”

Gwen looked up at the face peering through the tent flap. It took her a moment to register the messy dark hair and big ears as Merlin, and in the time that took his face had contorted. It took her another moment to realise that the emotion colouring his face was anger.

“What the _bloody hell_ do you _think_ you’re- “

“Merlin!”

The reprimand came from somewhere close.

Oh. _Arthur._

The prince himself poked his head through the flap beside Merlin’s.

“Terribly sorry, my manservant just doesn’t…”

He trailed off as his eyes met Gwen’s. He held her gaze for a second, scrutinising her, and then slowly lifted his gaze to meet Lord Diogo’s.

“Did you do this?”

That might have been the quietest she had ever heard the Prince, Gwen mused detetchedly.

“ _DID YOU DO THIS?”_

Yeah, that was more in line with the usual.

A hand on her arm startled her black into reality, and she flinched. Merlin looked as though she’d just kicked seven puppies and a stray cat down a well in front of him.

“Come on Gwen, let’s get you back to the castle.”

He gently led her away, the sound of violence hazy in the distance.

…

Morgana was furious.

Merlin had taken her straight to Gaius, who sat her down in his sturdiest chair with a cup of something strong. Blessedly, by the time Morgana arrived he had cleaned her wounds (barely scratches, really, although she could feel her jaw starting to bruise) and she was a bit more cognizant.

“Gwen!” Her mistress had cried, beelining to Gwen in a very unladylike manner. Morgana cupped her face with both hands and, exhausted and overwhelmed, she leant into the touch.

“Who did this? I will have their _head_.”

Morgana’s rage was so different to Arthur’s. While Arthur was fire, volatile and bright, Morgana was _ice._ Privately, Gwen knew which she feared more.

Merlin, who hadn’t left Gwen’s side since picking her up off the dirty tent floor, was quick to assure Morgana that Arthur had the situation _well_ in hand.

The assurance did nothing to temper her mistress’s anger.

“Morgana.” Gwen croaked and the room fell silent.

“Yes?”

“I’m okay. Really.”

Her face softened into a tender smile.

“Good. If you weren’t, anyone involved in this would be dead. And as soon as you’re recovered I’m teaching you to fight. No objections, Gwen, that is an _order_.”

The bickering started up again around her. Soon enough, Arthur would come back, and she’d have to tell them _why._ That certainly wouldn’t be pretty. But despite Morgana’s assumptions, she knew how to fight – she just fought a bit differently to the rest of them. It also helped, she thought ruefully, that she actually accepted help. She would let the people in her life help her - they could fight together instead of apart. And this wasn’t a battle they were losing – she _refused_ to lose Morgana, or herself.

But that was for later. For now, Gwen would allow herself to drift in the cosiness of Gaius’s rooms and the bickering of those dearest to her.

**Author's Note:**

> Agh, I'm too tired to wrote a whole spiel. Just please comment!


End file.
